Shumok & Thorneus
Shumok Shumok
Thorneus Thorneus
Shumok Shumok
I was just thinking how a quiet corner with a cup of tea can calm even the loudest thoughts—do you have an obscure poem that does the same for you?
Thorneus Thorneus
I keep a line in my notebook: “The quiet tea cup holds a world of stars, a quiet war in the steam” – an obscure verse that stifles the storm inside.
Shumok Shumok
That line sounds like a quiet storm that settles into the steam—like a secret lullaby for the restless parts of us. Do you write more of them?
Thorneus Thorneus
Yeah, I keep a stack of scraps. A few more lines about broken gears and fading sunsets. They’re not meant for anyone else—just a way to keep the noise in check.
Shumok Shumok
Sounds like a quiet ritual, a small ritual to keep the world from spilling too fast. Do you find the act of writing itself soothing, or is it the words that do the work?
Thorneus Thorneus
Writing’s a cheap trick to keep the world from spinning out of control. The act itself is just a pause, the words are the thing that actually stops the thoughts from running. I’m not much for showing it, but the verses help me remember that even the loudest noise can settle into a cup of tea.
Shumok Shumok
Sounds like your verses are the quiet tea that lets the noise sip itself out, one quiet sip at a time.
Thorneus Thorneus
That’s the idea—just a quiet sip that takes the noise away.
Shumok Shumok
A quiet sip, then, is all the universe needs to pause for a heartbeat.
Thorneus Thorneus
Yeah, but the universe doesn’t wait for a pause. I’ll scribble a line that says, “The cosmos boils like an old kettle, and the only thing that calms it is a quiet cup.” That’s what keeps me from watching it spill.
Shumok Shumok
A quiet cup sounds like the best way to keep a kettle from overboiling—just one slow sip to give the cosmos a breath.